


Heart's a Mess

by tealuvhonor



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, House Party, Jordan is a smartass, Love at First Sight, M/M, Nick's a human disaster, Underage Drinking, past Daisy/Gatsby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealuvhonor/pseuds/tealuvhonor
Summary: Nick learns some of the rumors floating around about Gatsby, and wants to see for himself how accurate they are.His first house party is an experience, to say the least.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite sure this fandom's alive and kicking, but I couldn't shake this idea so enjoy if you're interested!

Nick was on the verge of an honest to God panic attack. 

As if it wasn't bad enough being the poor transfer student, previously from a public school, he'd forgotten his own locker combination on the second goddamn day of classes. 

He gripped the metal lock firmly as he rattled it against the cold, unforgiving surface of the locker, conveniently located in the very corner of the hallway which was a sad, sad representation of his social life currently. 

Nick considered himself a wallflower, yes, but held pride in being quite observational. After all, that was what made his writing so great and landed him in the ritziest academy in New York, the ever-prestigious West Egg. 

He would have never been enrolled if not for the ridiculous amount of scholarship money thrown his way after an article of his won a contest and scored a spot in the New York Times weeks prior. West Egg was probably seeking publicity by granting him entrance (Generous Academy Offers Scholarship To Young Underprivileged Writer) but Nick saw it as taking lemons and making lemonade, what with the elevated chances of getting into Colombia with West Egg on his transcript. 

The truth about this school was that status mattered more than intellect, and that was a fact. So far, Nick had met some of the absolute most sheltered kids he'd ever seen- well, overheard. He hasn't actually talked to any of them yet. 

But that motivated him even more in his ambition to write for the school newspaper. He would bring the prejudices of this school to light. He would succeed through sheer hard work and determination.

He'd find a way to open this fucking lock. 

"Need a hand, Nicky?," a thoroughly amused voice yanked Nick back into reality, and he raised his head to give his friend Jordan a deadpan stare that made her chuckle. 

"Is it that obvious?," he replied, voice equally dry. 

"Answering a question with a question won't get you anywhere in life. Here, move over." 

Her slender form nudged him aside with ease, and she got to work on the stubborn device as her short, jet black fringe swept in front of her face. 

Strictly speaking, Jordan was the only person he knew upon arriving, and that wasn't even due to his noticeably lacking social skills. His cousin, Daisy, was a senior, and had introduced him to two people so that he wouldn't be completely in the dark. The first was her boyfriend, Tom Buchanan. Tom was a tall, well built guy who played on the rugby team, but a real jackass. Nick tolerated him though, primarily because he liked seeing Daisy happy. His cousin's smile was a delicate and charming one, but quite often a facade. She was one of those people who always looked on the verge of tears, glassy-eyed and distant, downturned as she tapped her many cigarettes with flawless manicured fingers. Most people didn't catch it, but she could never fool Nick. They'd known each other for too long. 

The second was Jordan Baker. Jordan was one of those people that your parents warn you to steer clear of. You know, the party girl, "the wrong crowd", the picture of androgyny. 

She was nice, though, but nothing short of a compulsive liar who copied off his homework.

So far, she'd been a lifesaver, though. 

"All done," she twirled the lock around her finger, the locker now hanging open. 

"Not even going to ask how you did that," Nick mumbled, reaching for his history textbook and shutting the door. 

"Good choice. Also, it's only been two days and your social life is bumming me out. We're doing something tonight." 

"I don't think so. I was going to catch up on this semester's work-" 

"'Course you were," she cut him off, rolling her eyes, "You don't get a say in this. We're going to Gatsby's," she said so surely that Nick knew she'd pester him about it all day. 

"The hell is a Gatsby?," Nick asked, exasperated. 

"I hereby forbid you from asking any more questions." 

"I hereby declare that I'm not going anywhere tonight." 

"See, Nicky, this is why you have no friends- you're not willin' to let loose," Jordan crossed her arms over her chest. 

"What I'm not willing to do is mingle with any of the douchebags in this school," he replied, shutting the locker. He began to gravitate toward the direction of his next class, but Jordan power-walked to match his pace. 

"This ain't just any house party, Nick. It's Gatsby. The guy goes all-out, and he's absolutely loaded. Never shows up to class, though," she explained hurriedly, as if it was the most intriguing thing she'd ever uttered in her life. "No one really sees him, but every other Saturday there's like two hundred people in his house. You gotta see it." 

She had his attention now, which couldn't be helped due to Nick's unfortunate interest in other people's lives. He honestly tried to remain impartial, but it wasn't his fault that human nature tended to be rampant with a sort of wild intrigue. Some people call it brown-nosing, but he called it journalism. 

"I'll think about it," he murmured. 

"Fantastic!," Jordan said, ruffling his hair before disappearing down the hallway. 

_______ 

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, despite hushed whispers all around about Gatsby's party. They spoke as if the kid wasn't a real student, but rather an urban legend among normalcy. It got to the point where Nick had to tune it out in order to study, pencil scratching just a bit too roughly on his note paper, and he knew he wanted to see this spectacle in the flesh, to seek out this Gatsby himself if only to prove he was real, that he was mortal and his curiosity could be put to rest. He was caught between simply not going and actually admitting to Jordan that he'd succumbed to her incessant pestering. 

When the final bell rang out, Nick straggled behind the flurry of kids eager to get the hell out of the building and booze it up in their Camaro, or whatever the hell rich people did on their own time. His eyebrows raised as he heard someone shout his name over the commotion, and he spun on his heel to see Daisy, dreamlike and graceful as ever, waving him down from the other side of the hall. His cousin flashed that delicate half-smile at him, and he immediately felt at ease. Even better, Tom was nowhere to be seen. 

"What's up, Daisy?," he sighed, hiking up his bag on his shoulder. 

She sighed, blowing a strand of honey golden hair out of her eyes and leaning back against the wall. 

"I just wanted to see how my little cousin is doing on his first week," she replied airily. 

"Eh, decent. The classes are alright but I don't really feel like I belong. I'm living in squalor compared to these assholes." 

"Nonsense," Daisy huffed a bit, which was honestly pretty entertaining, "And I'm one of those assholes, so watch it," she swatted him on the arm playfully, and gestured to lead the way outside with a quick nod. The two of them meandered on campus. It was September, the month of new beginnings and the last breaths of lingering summer air. The two of them talked freely for a few minutes, comfortable as any two people that have known each other since childhood. 

This time, however, Nick could barely concentrate on what she was saying as his mind drifted instead to a spacious mansion packed with people, carefree and boisterous, owned by a guy that no one could even prove existed. 

"Hey, Nick, what's wrong? You got that look," Daisy inquired. She inspected his expression, likely reading him like a book. She knew that he was an observer. Nick saw things, people, and he noticed. Anyone could look, but he saw. There was a difference. He tried not to be biased, he really did, but couldn't seem to put a stopper on his judgmental tendencies when he walked into the doors of West Egg. Maybe that was what made him a journalist, or just kind of a dick. 

"Just thinking," he hesitated for a moment, "Do you happen to know who Gatsby is?" 

He couldn't help himself. He felt he'd just burst if he'd waited a second longer to sat his curiosity. Even so, once he saw the dismay on Daisy's otherwise docile features, he sort of regretted asking her...but why? 

"What? Do you know him?," Nick urged when she didn't answer. Daisy's eyes darted to the pocket of her yellow sundress, grabbing a loose cigarette and scrambling for her lighter. She only smoked when she was stressed, and never on campus. 

"Sorta used to. It doesn't matter," she said, muffled by the object between her teeth. 

"Well, Jordan told me-" 

"Of course she did," Daisy sighed, then exhaled. "We uh, we had a thing a few years ago." 

"Oh." 

"Yeah." 

"I was thinking of going to that party tonight, y'know", Nick continued, despite her avoiding eye contact, "Thought I'd see for myself what all the fuss is about. At least I know he's real, now." He dug his hands into his pockets and watched her wince just slightly. Shit, he must've opened a wound or something. Her hands were shaking so hard he thought for a second that she would drop the cigarette. 

"That's great, dear, I'm so glad you're socializing," Daisy cooed softly, snapping back to her amiable self with a quirk of the corner of her lips. 

Nick didn't offer anything more on the subject. 

Before he could open his mouth, she told him she had to tend to something urgently, though Nick strongly doubted that. She left him there at the door, still in shock. If possible, his curiosity had grown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me!

 

 

 

  
Nick was losing his mind.

The bus ride home consisted of a lot of contemplation. He'd forgotten his earbuds in his locker, ironically, and so he was quite hyper-focused on his surroundings. It was fine, he liked to observe, and that day was no different. In fact, he finally had a reason to be interested in the people he shared the same oxygen with every day

Two girls in the seats behind him conversed giddily in hushed whispers, their perfume wafting from there throughout that entire section of the vehicle. It wouldn't have bothered him if not for the sheer overpowering effect it had on him as the scent assaulted his senses. Subsequently, he coughed into his arm, then stilled as he overheard one choice name.

Gatsby.

He couldn't shake it, now that Jordan cursed him with this newfound curiosity, and that name seemed to pop up all around him ever since. The tone in which this human legend was discussed always had an aura of excitement, intruige, to the point where even if you knew nothing about him, you found yourself enchanted with the image that wormed its way into your head- that of a handsome figure observing his own home packed with people he'd never even spoken with before. Someone with that much money had to be seeking some method of throwing it away, because that was what wealthy people did, and Nick knew that firsthand. But something about Gatsby felt different, and that was why Nick was so hesitant.

When he collapsed on his bed, he realized he had four missed texts from Jordan, which was much better than her yelling at him over the phone.

-I hope u know you're going tonight

-you don't have a say in this

-Nicky

-you better not be asleep

She was wearing him down. His own curiosity paired with his friend's nagging was slowly nudging him toward his closet to select an outfit (with Daisy's advice, ideally. Nick was no fashion expert).

He opened Snapchat to contact his cousin. Her name was surrounded by little daisy emojis, whereas his was plain. Just Nick.

Sometimes he thought that was all he was, too.

He sent her a blurry picture of the ceiling asking her for help, and pressed send. She answered super quickly, and he opened a snap of the lower half of her face, lips curled in a rosy smirk. The caption read 'absolutely'.

They seemed to bicker until the sun set. Daisy repeatedly told him that blue was his color, whereas Nick wanted to blend in a bit more. Eventually, they settled on a navy short-sleeved collared shirt ("Show off your collarbone, it's an asset." "Daisy, what does that even mean?") and black jeans that he refused to call skinny jeans. He laced up his brown combat boots, thoroughly worn, and felt something akin to confidence as he observed himself in the mirror. His cousin made it explicitly clear to mess up his hair a little, for whatever reason. He combed through the loose dark fringe obscuring a bit of his face until he appeared disheveled, on the border of sloppy but effortless.

Something was telling him that tonight would be a turning point for him, but he hadn't the faintest idea how.   
______________  
  
So this was happening.

Jordan slowed her convertible to a halt at the curb, nearly hitting it amidst Nick's animated warnings.

"How did you pass your permit test again?"

"Who said I did?"

Jordan was adorned in a pleasingly tight, black, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress that shimmered under the light. Her hair, previously glossy, was wind blown in a positively endearing way, framing her sharp features and pale, flushed face. Nick used to have a huge crush on her, but the two of them laughed good-naturedly about it, and in hindsight he couldn't imagine ever being romantically involved. Regardless, she was beautiful in an unconventional way- that sounded like the way people compliment other people without straight up calling them ugly, but he found that no other word could describe her particular brand of pretty.

"That's reassuring," he said dryly, "If you get smashed, I'll kill you. I don't even know where we are, never mind how to get back home."

"You'd know if you weren't daydreaming the entire ride here. Stop thinking so damn hard about this. You'll probably be contact high after twenty minutes in there, anyways."

"Again, plenty reassuring. Give me the keys."

She shot him an offended look from the driver's seat and he was half sure she was struggling to keep a straight face, but eventually tossed him the keys with a snort.

"Good girl."

"Thanks daddy."

"Never say anything like that ever again."

The two of them laughed all the way up the front staircase, Nick's anxiety dissipating for the time being. The carved marble they walked on shone brightly, oozing wealth just as the massive building before them did. The roof was a series of towering spirals that resembled a modern castle of some sort, sheathing him and Jordan in its presence. The walls were a series of arches and brilliantly illuminated windows overcome with a growth of ivy that curled around the surface and swallowed it up- intimidating, to say the very least.

Before he could so much as knock, the door swung open and they guy that let them in barely spared them a second glance before going back to whatever he was doing before- cutting lines, evidently.

The foyer was borderline trashed, and it was only a quarter after 10. Various clothing items dangled off an elaborate chandelier that looked suspiciously like solid gold. Speaking of clothes, the variation in dress around them created a chaotic atmosphere in the sense that there were people in swimsuits, floor-length dresses, even drag. Nick swore he spotted a girl wearing a sari, but Jordan wasn't far off about the contact high thing, so it's best not to take his testimony considering the thick stench in the air.

The dreamlike state he entered upon his exploration through the Gatsby mansion must have signaled Jordan to take her leave, and she disappeared into the thrush of teenagers to do God knows what. The car keys felt heavier in his pocket.

To alleviate the nervousness, he did the only reasonable thing- having exactly 1 (one) Adult Beverage that would definitely not turn into several because Nick was a smart kid who didn't turn to alcohol to solve his problems. Yet.

He wandered around the expanse of the house through countless rooms decorated intricately in the style of Art Deco, which though considered obsolete by some, was one of Nick's favorite art styles. He only came across the table stocked with liquor accidentally and oh, shit, was that a champagne tower?

The first tang of bubbly on his tongue instilled relief like no other, and the by his second glass he was splayed across a love seat contemplating why Gatsby would trust high schoolers with fine china opposed to plain old red solo cups.

_Because it's Gatsby_ , he concluded.

By his third the edges of his conscious was fuzzy, and he continued to wander the halls. The deeper he delved, the dimmer the lights grew. People spoke in hushed whispers, nestled intimately in corners with drinks in hand, passing a joint. Some people looked familiar, and many did not.

Nick turned a corner and was met with a small staircase illuminated by subtle lights that descended about 10 feet, or at least that's what his tipsy brain was telling him. Intrigued, he began to descend, careful not to hit his head on the oaken ceiling. It soon became apparent that he was entering the wine cellar, a luxury he'd only seen firsthand at his grandfather's house before his death. He admittedly wasn't paying much attention to where he was going because he slammed directly into someone facing away from him, a boy that superseded his height by about an inch, and when he turned around, Nick knew. He just did.

The boy was blond, a sandy color that complemented his striking blue eyes, crinkled a bit at the outer corners as if he smiled so much that lines settled already into his otherwise flawless complexion. He was fit, the brunet noted, wearing a white shirt rolled up to his forearms and unbuttoned at the very top, and he suddenly understood the collarbone thing Daisy raved about over Snap.

Tipsy Nick decided that he was gorgeous.

"Hi, I don't think I've seen you here before," the blond said with a smile, " Then again, I haven't been acquainted with quite a few of these people."

Oh Christ, his voice.

"I'm Nick," his voice cracked embarrassingly, "It's my first time."

The other chuckled lightheartedly, "Jay-," he hesitated visibly, "Gatsby."

Nick wasn't surprised.

"I figured, honestly."

"Oh? What tipped you off?"

"Intuition," Nick couldn't help but smile. There was comfortable silence as he spun to fully take in the wine cellar, seemingly mahogany and lined with casks.

"Damn, you stocking up for the next Prohibition?"

"Maybe the zombie apocalypse. My dad is never here, obviously, so I'd hate for it to go to waste," Gatsby tossed a bottle of wine at Nick, who caught it, scrutinizing the label.

"I'm no connoisseur, but this looks like the good shit."

"That's one way to put it. Do we go to the same school? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Yeah, I just started this week, though," he felt his face heating up.

Nick was overwhelmed completely with an emotion he couldn't place.

_______________

Somehow, the duo ended up on a balcony overlooking Gatsby's backyard, overflowing with precisely shaped hedges and blossoms of every kind. There was also a pool, circular and enormous , even from so high up. They lounged on an outdoor couch that apparently started at the pool and ended up on the roof. Jay explained this was unsurprising, as his furniture was misplaced quite often. Fixated on the night sky, the two of them chatted about everything and nothing at all, their cheeks flushed and hot from the alcohol they shared straight from the bottle. He realized that the blond didn't have a tendency to swear, much unlike himself. As Nick took a swig, he still felt the heat lingering from the other boy's lips, and he was relieved to blame his contentment on intoxication.

"You know, this is the most fun I've had at my own party in a long while."

"Why'd you start throwing them anyway? You said you didn't know anyone here."

"Incoming cliche," Gatsby laughed, "I did it for a girl. Now people just show up every weekend, so I'd hate to disappoint."

Despite his own knowledge of him and his cousin, Nick kept his mouth shut. For some selfish reason, he didn't want to talk about Daisy.

Jay had his arm around the top of the couch behind Nick, barely touching, and began to lean into the other boy on his side until they were using each other as pillows.

His wine-addled brain couldn't pinpoint exactly when they fell asleep on each other, but it happened with Gatsby's head resting on Nick's shoulder, soft hair brushing against his neck.

Jordan wasn't gonna fucking believe this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party AU to Coffee Shop AU at breakneck speed

The world was spinning when Nick awoke around noon on Saturday. There was no way the sun could be that bright, he thought begrudgingly. It seemed like every light source existed solely to spite him at that moment. 

Dryness in the back of his throat was the only thing keeping him from staying in bed and never leaving. The base of his skull ached something fierce, permeating through the rest of him like a dull wave of exhaustion that got worse as time went on. Just when it appeared that he couldn’t feel any worse, Nick slowly brought himself to an upright position and nausea immediately wracked his dehydrated form. 

You will not throw up. You will not throw up, he willed himself to believe through a couple cautious inhales. 

It was so typical that he didn’t even remember how he’d gotten home last night. Sure, he didn’t drink very often, but several occasions had him witnessing Tom bingeing on Pabst in broad daylight, and that asshole never suffered gaps in his memory. Perhaps the lack of brain cells was a compensation. 

Nick cradled his head in his hands and considered the likelihood of finding his way home and not dramatically embarrassing himself in the process. He arrived at Gatsby’s empty handed, so he probably wasn’t able to call an Uber. Jordan was long gone by the time he left, so that wasn’t likely. She would have left at the first sign of him making bad decisions, her twisted way of showing approval. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t have 50 missed texts from her, though. 

He couldn’t have walked, could he? Honestly, what the hell? 

Speaking of texts, he should probably confirm for his friends that he wasn’t dead. 

Nick grappled with the sheets trying to find his phone for about a minute before he emerged victorious to find that he was drowning in notifications. Jordan’s got opened first. 

10:58 where’d you go   
11:58 you better not have dipped   
11:13 imma assume you’re somewhere snorting coke off someone’s body and fuck off back home   
11:14 text me when you gain consciousness 

 

He found the beginnings of a laugh bubbling up in his chest, but quickly winced at the pounding in his head. His reply was brief. 

12:20 I’m fine   
12:20 thanks for peer pressuring me I had fun   
12:21 met someone

The next was from Daisy, interestingly enough, an invitation to brunch with her and their shared family, since that’s what bored, rich people did on Sundays, he guessed. He left her on read for the time being, because the last text was intriguing him far too much. His thumb scrolled over an unknown number, not entered in his contacts yet and certainly not of any familiarity to him. Nick didn’t have an extensive address book to begin with. He raised a brow at the impeccable grammar that his new acquaintance displayed through text message and trained his eyes on the screen, though the brightness stung his irises. 

9:01 Nick, it’s Jay. You left your jacket at my house. Do you want to drop by and pick it up? 

Nick actually found himself reading that in Gatsby’s voice. It was sent earlier that morning, which meant Jay was an early riser, probably one of those weirdos who just didn’t get hangovers no matter how many bad decisions took place the night before. 

His thumb was prepared to type a yes, but he soon remembered that his mother took the car on weekends. Shit. He found himself wanting to see the guy again, not a day after meeting. There was something simply magnetic about him. When he spoke to you, he made you feel like you were the only person in the world, capturing all of your focus in those warm, bright eyes. Honestly, no wonder why the school was always abuzz with talk of his infamy. He was unlike anyone Nick had ever met. 

12:23 I would but I don’t have my car rn 

Gatsby’s reply was instantaneous. 

12:23 I’ll drop it off at your place. Be there in 20? 

Of course he left it to Nick, whose heart was currently climbing up his own rib cage. After a moment of hesitation, he rattled off his address and pressed send. 

This was a bad idea. He looked like a mess, eyes encircled with dark purple and still in last night’s outfit. He almost broke his neck shedding it to hop into the shower as quickly as he could manage considering he felt the ground teetering from side to side beneath his feet. 

A sigh of relief echoed off the tile while water streamed down his neck and shoulders. The teen’s thoughts wandered from dizzying chandeliers, the buzz of champagne to chilled night air, and a shoulder to lay his head on. 

___________________________

“Hey there,” Gatsby said when Nick opened the door. His smile was half quirked, but still equally dazzling. He dressed to casually in a cool toned sweatshirt rolled up to his elbows that displayed the Oxford University logo and distressed jeans cuffed at the calves. His blonde hair was just the right amount of mussed to look perfect and it was remarkable how not-straight Nick’s thoughts were turning. 

“Hi,” he answered, like a dumbass. It was then he realized that Gatsby had his own jacket under his arm. 

“I think we were sorta out of it last night, but I hope you got home alright.” 

“Oh, yeah. Can I pay you back for whatever-“ 

“No need, I just sent you with my driver. He’s very trustworthy.” 

Nick couldn’t fathom how Gatsby had a private chauffeur available at 1 in the morning, but maybe it was just part of the Gatsby mystique, like the guy was a war criminal who owned the family his life or something and was eternally dedicated to their service. While Nick was letting his imagination sprint wildly, he was delicately being handed his own garment and the other was moving his mouth again. 

“ I was just on my way to see a friend. You wanna come? Haven’t had company in my car for a while now,” his friend inquired. Nick was already breaking records for exceeding his social interaction quota this weekend, but couldn’t quite bring himself to decline. He didn’t know where he’d be taken, or who they were meeting, but a smile like that had the potential of making Nick do dangerous things. 

“Sure. I need to get out out the house or this hangover will stay with me all day,” he said sheepishly. His attention was brought to the car parked in front of his house, and he didn’t know how it didn’t catch his eye sooner. It was a vintage of some kind, bright yellow in color with a convertible hood. 

Gatsby was walking down his front steps now, as the brunet shrugged on his own jacket and shut the door behind him. Turns out being alone together was slightly more nerve wracking than when they were both tipsy, and so they both got into the car accompanied by relative quiet. The engine hummed beneath them, and Nick was in one of those situations where you don’t know what to do with your hands, kinda like a virgin on prom night. He settled for gripping his knees and attempting nonchalance while his friend (?) made a turn onto the main road. Nick noticed that Gatsby was sort of an unstable driver, weaving in and out of places he was pretty sure you should not weave in and out of. He was ridiculously confident about it, though, just as he seemed to be in everything he did. 

“So where are we headed?,” Nick, broke the silence. 

“Just a little cafe I’m familiar with. I’ll assume you need some caffeine in your system, anyways, but I just need to have a short discussion with somebody. Nothing important.” 

Well, of all the suspicious sentences Nick had heard in his short lifetime. Still, he didn’t question. He made a mental note to grill Jordan about every rumor she’d ever heard about this guy. 

“Anyways, they have this really incredible hot chocolate. I used to go there all the time with...with someone.” 

Up until then Nick had completely forgotten that Gatsby and his cousin, arguably his closest friend, were an item some time ago. It could’ve been a lie, of course, because it’s Jordan for God’s sakes. Nevertheless, he felt his heart clench on behalf of the other boy, who looked downright broody and nostalgic at the same time. His hand clenched the steering wheel, white knuckled. Nick didn’t press further. 

“I definitely need something that tastes like jet fuel. Head’s fucking throbbing,” the brunet tried to crack a smile. He succeeded in softening Jay’s expression, even by just a bit. 

“Never could handle strong coffee. I’d probably talk your ear off it’d hit me so hard.” 

“I don’t mind,” Nick said quietly. 

Regardless of what he just claimed, the driver continued to talk- just trivial stuff. He didn’t care. In fact, he found comfort in Gatsby’s confident tone as he recounted a couple anecdotes.

As if no time had passed at all, they were there. The place was small, one of those holes in the wall. He liked small businesses; they go against the grain of the bourgeois, to put it simply. Being around people who flaunt their wealth turned Nick off to big business as well as old money. He’s been called a commie in Economics class more times than he could count. 

The place was nestled on a street corner and vines of ivy clung to the brick exterior. A sign, so small you could miss it, read ‘TJ’s.” 

It was increasingly hard to believe that something shady could go down in such a charming little coffeehouse such as this, but Nick decided not to assume very much about his newest friend. Not a person on the planet could say with confidence that they knew exactly who Jay Gatsby was, and fusing that with the absence of any parents was kind of messing with Nick’s irritating habit of being quick to judge. 

“Cute, right? I’m here all the time.” The boy’s comment snapped him out of his thoughts as they both got out of the car. 

A rush of warmth and espresso wafted pleasantly into their sinuses upon entering. The interior was surprisingly Art Deco, a rare sight out in rural Long Island. Neon signs above the counter resembled something you’d see showcased on an old theater marquee, and posters from various speakeasies were plastered all over the dimly lit walls. Nick didn’t doubt they were authentic. His eyes were drawn to a few cozy looking bronze booths, then to the two younger-looking baristas working the coffee bar. He already felt a little more relieved of his headache simply by the cafe’s ambiance. 

“I’m gonna take care of something real quick. Can you grab me a coffee?” 

Nick was about to say ‘sure’ when Gatsby abruptly shoved a $100 bill into his hand like it was nothing. Holy shit, this guy was loaded. That’s about a week’s wages at his part-time job. All that came to his mind was... 

“What do you take?” 

“Just sugar, old sport,” Jay winked, a deliberate gesture followed by him approaching some older guy sitting at the back corner of the shop. 

All Nick could think at that moment was, Dear god, I have a crush on a drug dealer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So totally stoked for this chapter that I somehow stretched out for half a year. The praise for HAM (wow) is overwhelming af 
> 
> I hope Fitzgerald knows he wrote the greatest gay love story of all time

Sunday morning was going just fine until one phone call disturbed and downright derailed it. 

It was a little after nine, when he was staring aimlessly at an episode of Spongebob, still in sweatpants. It was so embarrassing how he could quote the whole thing, the one with the hash slinging slasher and undoubtedly the most iconic. He’s fought people on it before. 

Nick’s ringtone startled the fresh hell out of him. Daisy again. Why was it always her trying to make him seem less like a recluse? 

“Good morning sunshine. I’m just reminding you that brunch starts at 10:30 because you’d forget your own name if it wasn’t on your driver’s license.” 

“First of all, that’s offensive, and secondly, the what starts at what?” Nick stared at the clock incredulously, “When did I agree to go to that?” 

“Since I said pretty please and you’d never disappoint your baby cousin!” 

“You’re older than me, and twice as manipulative. Where is this place?” 

“You ask so many questions, Nicky. I’ll send you the directions.” 

“Is Jordan going?” He asked, a bit hopeful that his only entertainment wouldn’t be the Buchanan family’s bigoted opinions. 

“Nah, she’s gonna be hungover for the next century. Body shots.” 

“Body shots?” 

“Body shots.” 

He sighed so heavily it crackled the speaker. 

“I’ll show up for an hour but only if there’s garlic bread.” 

“I will bribe them to provide garlic bread for breakfast because I love you. Also, bread makes you fat.” 

“Fine,” he heard her giggle triumphantly, This is gonna be a shitshow. I’m so not good at small talk, Daze.” 

“Who is? Just have a mimosa and relax.” 

She said that as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, yet his anxiety began to rev up like a drag racer. He would hardly be in a mindset to eat when a whole restaurant full of eyes were trained on him- plus, he shook when he was nervous. Daisy was so lucky to be into all this messy socialite garbage. She watched Real Housewives almost religiously when her idiot boyfriend wasn’t watching copious amounts of rugby and screaming at the television. Nick just wasn’t cut out for the mind games those people played every waking day. 

It wasn’t a good idea to get drunk, not only because it was before noon, but because he got chatty and Jay could most definitely attest to that. Speaking of...

They had only parted several hours ago, but there was no one Nick would rather spend the rest of the weekend with. It was weird how he never really tired of Gatsby no matter how long they were around one another, because there was no one he had ever shared that sort of connection with. Even Jordan was a lot to handle, as much as he loved her. 

Jay was different. He could recite the Apple terms and conditions out loud and Nick would still cling onto to his every word. Nick lost sleep trying to figure out his feelings for this guy.

But it was kind of creepy to ask him to hang out two consecutive days, right? Yeah. They had only met two days before, and by accident no less, while Nick was snooping around his wine cellar. 

“I can sense you thinking, so I’m gonna go ahead and hang up. Don’t you dare skip out.” 

So the line went dead. 

Ugh. 

_____________________

 

He didn’t even know what the restaurant was called, but he also didn’t care. 

Nick pulled his beat up Jeep into a tight spot next to a Lamborghini which kind of felt like a metaphor for his life. Upon observing the rest of the parking lot, Nick took notice of Buchanan’s glaringly bold electric blue Lamborghini double parked and halfway into a handicap spot, the jackass. Nick could easily picture him shouting at the valet, claiming some disability that would probably interfere with his ability to drive anyways. 

The maitre D’ glanced at him with distain, either because he could tell Nick was late or because he was underdressed, but he just couldn’t find the will to care. 

He spotted Daisy first, sitting in the center of the room and commanding attention as usual, surrounded by other people who were making her laugh that delicate little laugh with just the right amount of fakeness. Her cousin resolved not to bother her just yet, and drifted to a hallway off of what he assumed was the kitchen, itching to text Jay and complain about this super annoying obligation since he was the only person who could make him laugh on a Sunday morning. He’d probably make some ridiculous recommendation to create a fake identity and go around talking to strangers to pass the time. 

Nick was smiling at the thought when he turned the corner and was absolutely assaulted with the image of none other than Tom Buchanan and a redhead that he’d never seen before doing some seriously PG-13 rated things. They were both disheveled, grabbing at one another frantically to the point where Nick felt bile rising in his throat at the sight. Him and Tom soon locked eyes as the mystery woman quite literally attacked his neck, and mouthed a ‘shhh.’ He even had the audacity to fucking smile. 

Nick was back in the main room, fuming with intention to tell Daisy straight away, but upon looking at her, so content and engrossed in animated conversation that his heart sunk. He wasn’t anywhere near surprised that Tom was just the kind of sleaze that he seemed to be, but witnessing the whole ordeal made it disgustingly tangible. The urge to steal some breadsticks and run creeped into his mind when a tap on his shoulder made him jump about half a foot in the air. 

“Relax, old sport,” he felt the hand squeeze and sighed at the sound of Gatsby’s voice. 

“What are you doing here?” Nick smiled and turned to see his friend absolutely rocking a deep blue suit that was perfectly tailored to his torso to the point where it was criminal. He had never inner-monologued something so gay in his life. 

“I’m not a complete shut-in, old sport. Plus, most important meal of the day.” 

“Brunch?” Nick replied incredulously. 

“You know what I mean. Are you riding solo, too, or do you have a hot date?” 

“My cousin asked me to come, Nick nodded his head vaguely toward Daisy and immediately regretted it. Jay obviously didn’t realize Daisy was there as well up until that point, because his disposition faded into something like fearful regret. Nick was actually a little jealous that she could invoke that kind of reaction in him just from existing but quickly shook it off for the other’s sake. 

“Come with me. I don’t wanna leave you alone.” 

“I assume Jordan told you about...that.” 

“Well, yeah. I know it’s a little uncomfortable but she’s staring at us and I really don’t feel like getting grilled about hanging out with her ex-boyfriend.” 

“Understandable. This’ll be fun.” 

_________________________

Five minutes later and they were not having fun. Daisy looked on the verge of tears, Gatsby was babbling like his life depended on it, and Nick had folded about a million straw wrappers out of sheer nervousness. 

“So how did you two uhm,” she hesitated, “meet?” 

“At a party-“

“Coffee shop-“ 

The two boys glared at one another. Of course Gatsby would tell a lie that had absolutely no significance and make the mess of an interaction even worse. 

Thankfully, Tom interrupted at an opportune moment. 

Daisy was whisked away with nothing but a knowing glance at Jay and complete disregard for Nick’s existence. 

“He’s a fascinating brand of degenerate,” Jay remarked, and Nick snickered into his glass of orange juice. 

“Jesus, even your insults sound classy.” 

“I’d say he was a cunt, but for that, you have to be smart,” he corrected. 

At the sudden crudeness, Nick laughed so hard he leaned back, and noticed that Jay had his arm around his chair, a friendly kind of gesture. 

Probably. 

He didn’t look into their close proximity at the table at first, but Jay’s breath on his neck told a very not platonic story. 

There was quiet for a moment among the bustling atmosphere. 

“I’m really glad you’re here. Being with you, Nick, is just...” 

Gatsby never used his name like that, and he felt his cheeks begin to heat up. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

The sandy haired boy was staring intently at the tablecloth, but his hand, holy shit, was ever so gently gripping Nick’s thigh. 

“So I’m not crazy?” 

“Just a little,” Nick breathed. 

He could not believe this was actually occurring. It wasn’t even apparent whether time was going too fast or agonizingly slow. 

“Wanna do something stupid?” the brunet murmured under his breath. 

“Always.” 

They were on their feet in milliseconds, practically tripping over themselves to get to the bathroom. It was a single stall with a legitimate lock, thank god. They were both wordlessly surveying what they had to work with, Nick a little more so on account of never actually doing anything with anyone before and it was kind of intimidating because this was living legend Jay Gatsby pressing him against the tiled wall. 

Gatsby’s lips were on his so quickly and roughly that it felt like the wind was knocked right out of his lungs. He tasted faintly of maple syrup and Nick thought thank god, I never got a chance to inhale 10 pieces of garlic bread. 

Nick fumbled with his hands out of sheer insecurity until they settled for his friend’s shoulders and relished the harsh grip on his waist. The other boy had leaned back, it seemed, to survey what he’d done, lips swollen in a pout that soon curled into a smile. Instead of returning the action, Nick grabbed Gatsby by the tie to pull them back up against one another. 

How was this happening? Why? Nick was a nobody- he didn’t get dates, he didn’t get lucky, he didn’t get pretty blue eyed guys to do sleazy things to him in a restaurant bathroom. 

While he was overthinking, Jay managed to force Nick’s legs apart with his knee, evoking a quiet groan from them both as Nick arched his back. His knees almost went out from under him when a warm hand made its way up his shirt and skimmed his ribcage.

The resounding knock on the door reverberated off the walls, making both of them jump and gasp for breath. 

Shit.


End file.
